Unanswered Questions
by Cindy England
Summary: Elves belong in a tribe. But when one of their number disappears, there are no ready answers for the Chieftess.
1. Part 1

Title: Unanswered Questions  
Author: Cindy England  
Disclaimers: Characters presented within are property of Rushwater Holt. ElfQuest is copyright Warp Graphics Inc.. 

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_"Where's Summerset?"_

The sound of Woodsmoke's voice, thin and eerily reedy from concern, easily rose above the sound of the tribe gathered around the Hunt and their kills, fresh returned from a bountiful Highbelt's Hunt.

The sound continued to echo in Wildstar's ears, numbing the noise of the rest of the world around her. The Hunt had long since dispersed at Snowspear's orders to search their route during the hunt in hopes of finding the missing weaver who had rode out among their ranks on Snapbone and not returned.

Evening had slowly turned to dawn - painfully slowly, Wildstar reflected - and it was only now as the strengthening light of day flooded the holt that Wildstar heard the quiet return of the search party. Too quiet. Quiet was not good, she knew that far too well from past experiences. Quiet meant defeat.

The empty den suddenly seemed to close in around the chieftess. She shut her eyes, finally breaking the stony stare that had penetrated the hewn wooden wall for far too long during the night, as if searching for an answer, a clue, even a hint of possibility in its grainy pattern.

Still her ears pulsed with the sound of Woodsmoke's strained question, demanding an answer she could not give, did not wish to give. Then the thick leather of the den flap rustled behind her, pushed aside by someone entering. A new scent filled the air and Wildstar knew Snowspear stood solemnly behind her.

"Nothing?" she whispered. She didn't open her eyes, didn't bother to turn around to face her companion. The question was rhetorical in nature - she already knew the answer. Still, it had to be asked.

No answer came, not in words, at least. Behind her silvery hair shook slowly but knuckles clenched white into the shaft of a spear belied the Hunt Leader's true emotions, which roiled like malevolent storm clouds beneath a stoic surface. It was answer enough.

"What of Snapbone?" Wildstar queried next. The wolves did not leave the pack, not willingly. There was safety in numbers, prosperity.

Behind her Snowspear sighed. "We found tracks that broke away from the group - they must have been hers - but they petered out when the ground turned craggy. The scent trail's been erased from the spray of the falls nearby." The frustration in Snowspear's voice was evident; the huntress spurned losing prey.

A long silence settled about the den. A hollowness proceeded to creep over the two women, setting a heaviness across the shoulders and a leaden feeling in the pit of the stomach as each contemplated the situation and what course of action remained. The echoes began to rise in Wildstar's ears again.

Slowly she cracked her lids open, meeting the sightless face of the den wall once again. Nothing had changed, she noted with idle sadness.

Finally moving stress-cramped muscles, the chieftess turned and made her way toward the den's entrance hole. "Woodsmoke will need to know," she said softly as she brushed past Snowspear, "His daughter is lost."


	2. Part 2

The warmth of the sun's light filtering through the leafy canopy above washed over Wildstar's face as she set foot upon the ground. Strange to feel such warmth when the rest of her body felt chilled to the core. Pressing her back against the gigantic trunk of the Elder Tree, the chieftess paused in her tracks.

The holt seemed quiet and peaceful enough, with the dew sparkling upon the grass and the sun dappling the leaves overhead, but Wildstar knew it was an illusion. She could feel the eyes of the others peering out from their own dens; she even caught a few as her gaze shifted over the grove of trees that made up the holt proper but they quickly broke contact with her. It didn't matter; new sets of eyes instantly filled their place. Everyone was worried. Everyone was on edge. Wildstar sighed and resumed her movement.

Her legs felt stiff, her pace awkward, as she strode the distance to the tree that held Woodsmoke's den; held Summerset's den. Looking up from its base, Wildstar became painfully aware of just how small and vulnerable she felt, how small her people were in this large and unpredictable world. They needed to stick together; like the wolves, she knew there was safety in numbers, prosperity. She needed to be strong - for them and for herself. Yet the giant redwood loomed above her, over her.

Another sigh escaped her lips and she shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of such thoughts without success. Setting her hands to the tree, she began to climb, feeling at a loss for what to say when she reached her destination.

Pulling herself level with the den, Wildstar crouched upon the sturdy branch before the entrance, softly placing a pale hand upon the rounded rim. The leather flap was pulled aside and without saying a word, she simply peered within.

A light from a forgotten candle flickered from within the trap maker's den, ignorant of the sun's light spilling into the warren with equal force. The flame writhed as if in pain above the nearly exhausted tallow, giving off an acrid smelling smoke. Woodsmoke sat opposite the candle, back to the opening of the den, shoulders hunched and starring intently into the glow of the flame, much as Wildstar herself had starred at the wooden wall earlier.

To the side Dreamshadow sat nestled amid the sleeping furs, a slumbering Echo by her hip. The elder hugged her daughter closer to her as she spied Wildstar perched outside. Her eyes met the chieftess' and through the veil of composure the dream speaker mustered around her, Wildstar could clearly see the anxiety lacing her delicate features. Tension and despair permeated the air, stiflingly thick like the spray of a whitestripe.

It was wrong, so wrong. She couldn't do it.

Tearing her eyes away from the den, Wildstar stood and turned in one fluid motion; only now as she tree-walked away from Woodsmoke's den and back to her own did her body feel like itself again, obeying her commands with ready ease. Leaping from branch to branch, dens blurred past her vision. So focused was she on her new goal that she was even oblivious to the heads that popped out from their warrens in curious surprise at her wake.

Ducking inside her quarters, the chieftess took down an oiled leather satchel hanging from the wall near the entrance. Pulling the flap open, she began to fill it with supplies - smaller pouches of smoked jerky, a pouch of healing herbs, two spare spear tips and a change of clothes.

A voice behind her interrupted her packing. "What are you doing?"

Her hand paused, hovering over the open satchel, cradling the spearheads. "What does it look like I'm doing, Rock? I'm packing," she responded, then returned to adding contents to the bag. An uncomfortable silence stilled the room for the second time in the day.

"She's gone, Wildstar. Snowspear made us comb those trails and everywhere in between a hand of times or more until we were about to drop. She's not there; she's just - gone. Why can't you accept that?"

"I've _never_ accepted it!" Wildstar roared, dropping the satchel and spinning on the dark-haired elf behind her. Her face twisted in anger at his words, a hint of confusion furrowing her brows.

"I never accepted it!" she repeated, just as vehemently. "I never accepted it when Chip left, or Arrowflame, or Ravenwing," - the names tumbled off her tongue far too easily, each face emblazed upon her memory all too vividly - "or Willowmist, or Soulseeker -"

Wildstar's mouth snapped shut in mid-sentence, a kind of shock at her own words registering in her eyes as she starred at Rock before swiftly turning back around from the returning awkward silence. Picking up the fallen satchel, she resumed what remained of her packing, shoving the last items of clothing in with willful ire.

"It makes no sense, leaving the tribe," she finally said, a measure of control returning to her voice. "Elves need a tribe." She flipped the flap of the satchel over and tied it closed before grabbing a nearby water skin and slipping it over her shoulder.

"So why are you leaving, then?" Rock asked, his voice dry and little more than a whisper.

Wildstar shot him a narrowed glance. "I'm not leaving, I'm going searching for her. She's out there - somewhere - they all are, Rock. I haven't forgotten any of them - have you?"

She watched her words bite into him, the sight only adding to the already snarled mass of raw, conflicting emotions. Jerking the satchel onto her shoulder, she strode back to the den entrance, grabbing her favourite spear on the way.

"Come if you want but I'm leaving now," she stated flatly, then slipped outside and down the Elder Tree.


	3. Part 3

Wildstar squinted into the day-brightened forest canopy as Howler paused to sniff at the ground. Behind her Rock shifted uncomfortably atop Prancer, who whined after having been run all night in multiple searches already. The carver hadn't said a word since quietly following Wildstar out of their den to the wolf caves and, unable to console his lifemate, he patted his wolf in tender understanding instead.

The Hunt's trail had been easy enough for an elf to pick up on; they had taken one of the main hunting trails away from the holt roughly in the direction of sun-comes-up, then branched off into the undergrowth when they neared the pool from Death-Drop Gorge. This was the area where Foxears had sighted a hand of boar for the hunt, this and the thicketed area further beyond.

Following the trail, Howler likewise slipped into the undergrowth, Prancer following in his tracks. As the space narrowed, the tracks showed the pack had broken into smaller groups so as to better pass without disruption. Most kept to groups of three but after several close inspections, Wildstar noted a few stragglers. One of them was surely Summerset.

Concentrating on the lone sets of prints, the chieftess soon discovered the place where one broke away from the rest. Perhaps the weaver had thought to circle the boar and drive them toward the rest of the hunters? It was a tactic often used by the pack and the elves, especially when hunting large herd-oriented prey. But to send a lone wolf and rider for the task was inefficient and Wildstar knew Snowspear would have ordered more to join in the task or risk losing the prey altogether. Unless Summerset had taken such a decision upon herself, which Wildstar reflected wouldn't have been the first time the head-strong weaver had done such a thing. Mentally gnawing at the puzzle, Wildstar urged Howler forward, continuing to follow the rogue prints.

In short order tracks that initially appeared to be circling the gorge and the prey turned aside and veered steadily away from the hunt. Confused, Wildstar halted Howler to contemplate this oddity. Perhaps Summerset had broken away to circle the prey and then been distracted - but if so, by what? The chieftess' eyes racked the ground for clues to support her theory - more tracks, perhaps of more boar that had caught the weaver's attention or similar game - but even in the light of day, none were found.

"Five-fingered fist!" Wildstar swore, slamming the butt of her spear into the ground and burying it half a hand into the rich blanket of loam. Behind her Rock flinched in muted accompaniment.

When the trail finally hit solid rock, Wildstar was all but spitting nettles in frustrated remorse.

Slipping off Howler's back, she paced the length of the dead-end trail and back again, ranging out periodically in a desperate attempt to pick it back up again elsewhere, despite the number of times the Hunt had already done so. The effort only served to muddle things more than they already were.

**Summerset!** Wildstar sent, the force of her mental cry punctuated by the rush of raw emotions swirling within her pounding chest. Their sendings had so far all gone unanswered but perhaps, perhaps Wildstar's own voice might compel the weaver's response and bring the lost one home. Tense moments droned by in relative silence only to be replaced by the sound of Woodsmoke's haunting question yet again.

Plodding slowly back to where Howler now lay with Rock and Prancer, Wildstar sank down into the comforts of her bond's side.

At long last she propped her head upon her crossed forearms and looked out across Howler's back into the forest. "Why?" she asked, to no one in particular, her voice low and raspy.

"Elves need a tribe," she repeated, not for the first time over the last day. The thought had become like a mantra to her, instilled into her by her father so many years ago.

Or did they? Perhaps it was only those whose role, whose definition of self, depended on tribal unity who believed such things but was not the case in the larger scheme of the universe. The thought tickled maliciously at the furthest reaches of Wildstar's mind but she soon shoved it away, remembering the feel of the looming redwood above her. There was safety in numbers, prosperity. That too had become a mantra of late.

"Perhaps she just felt the need to be alone for a while," Rock offered, having finally decided it was safe to voice an opinion again. It pained him to see Wildstar bound up in such a fit of turmoil. Besides, the carver himself was well-known for leaving the holt periodically when the tides of the world demanded he make peace with them and he had always returned, given time.

Wildstar too understood more than anyone the need to find solace within, sometimes at the expense of foregoing her tribe mates. But still, the idea didn't sit right with her.

"Yes, but why leave without telling anyone; not even Woodsmoke? And why use the pretense of accompanying the Hunt? It makes no sense." Wildstar sighed, disliking the strained sound of her own voice.

Rock ran a tired hand through his tousled hair and shrugged. "I don't know," he replied in simple honesty. In truth, he hadn't considered the implications of Summerset possibly using Highbelt's Hunt as an escape route and the idea bothered him to think that might have been the case. Why would anyone feel the need for such secretive motives, he mused? Unless they had plans to disobey Wildstar… That thought too bothered the carver.

"Perhaps," Rock began again, chasing the tail of an idea that had suddenly burst upon him. "Perhaps she went in search of Willowmist?"

"Willowmist?" Wildstar's voice was a mixture of tired confusion and she rubbed at her temples as she thought back. The stargazer had left the holt several hands of years ago, nearly as mysteriously as Summerset had now, and never been found. The pair had shared a short lovemating before his departure, although it was widely known that the weaver had put a quick end to the pairing after several heated arguments over the course of a season's turning.

The chieftess chewed the inside of her bottom lip in quiet thought. Perhaps Rock had something here; perhaps Summerset regretted those arguments and felt a guilt at the chaffing between them when Willowmist had left and felt the urge to make one final attempt at finding him and making amends, despite the amount of time that had passed. Although privately Wildstar wanted to believe that all missing elves could still be found - somewhere, somehow - realistically the wolf inside her knew that such an effort was often futile in nature. She had seen it happen far more than her elf side wanted to admit, wanted to remember.

"Maybe," Wildstar finally agreed with dull reluctance. She shifted around to face Rock, propping her back against Howler's ribs and let a near-calm silence descend upon the pair.


	4. Part 4

When the sky had eventually darkened to night, Wildstar couldn't say for sure, but in time she realized that eve had come once again to the forested canyons she had known all her life. Her thoughts roved without form or purpose and she idly wondered if Summerset - where ever she was; Wildstar refused to believe anything else - was watching this sunset as well, the chieftess knowing how much the weaver loved the rich colours the sky donned when the sun rose and set. Images of the red-haired elf perched amid the highest branches of the huge redwoods, intently drinking in the view with unblinking eyes, flickered easily into Wildstar's mind and stirred the ache within her chest once more.

Her eyes drifted over toward Rock and she found him watching her, a measure of uncertainty and concern shifting between his eyes. He had brought out his knife and wood shavings from a day's worth of whittling littered his pants and the ground around him. Prancer dozed on her back, one paw held up in mid air that twitched every few minutes. Wildstar could also feel Howler sleeping, his sides rising and falling rhythmically against her back.

She supposed they had best return. The tribe was already distraught over one elf's disappearance, no need adding her own and Rock's to the burden. Still, going back meant defeat. Going back meant having to face Woodsmoke and tell him his daughter was lost. Wildstar didn't know if she could stand to look into his eyes, to watch his soul shrivel and break. It brought back too many memories.

Eve grew into night. His wood whittled to exhaustion, Rock had taken to slicing the wood curls into fine, feathery strips. Both the wolves had awakened from their naps and roused themselves to yawn and stretch before settling back down into a new position when neither elf made any indication of moving.

She couldn't sit out here all night and day, hoping for Summerset to return, she knew. Though one was lost, there were many more who needed her, a small voice in the back of her head reasoned. Without a chief the tribe lost its unity, the reasoning continued. Wildstar grasped these thoughts, latching onto them and holding them close to her. She hated to feel useless, hated not being in control. Ever since Summerset had not come back with the Hunt she had felt a lack of control - of the situation, her tribe, the world in general, even over her own body. She had to go back and take control. It was the only passage through this, the reasoning concluded.

Wildstar shuddered inwardly at the implication. She closed her eyes and stroked Howler's fur in an attempt to calm her nerves and prepare herself for what she ultimately knew she had to do. At long last, the chieftess pulled herself slowly to her feet, wincing as the blood rushed back into her numbed legs, and mounted Howler.

She nodded to Rock, the simple gesture encompassing all that neither words nor sending could. The carver tucked his knife back into its sheath before climbing atop his own wolf's back, then sidled up to Wildstar, slipping a hand into hers and nuzzling her neck. His support and closeness struck a surge of profound release over and through Wildstar. Her head ducked low into the crook of his neck and shoulder as the tears gushed forth, bursting through the careful barrier she had constructed around herself, her hands clawing at him as her body raked itself with grief.


	5. Part 5

Daylight was filtering in through the holt's boughs once more when Wildstar and Rock finally returned. She had cried herself dry in Rock's firm embrace and although she had said nothing more to him, the carver privately suspected her tears were for more than just Summerset alone.

Again the chieftess could feel the eyes upon her, tracing her every step, trying to interpret what was to happen. She shrugged off the unease such stares brought with them as best she could and dismounted Howler, setting the wolf free to return to his pack on the plateau. She stood and watched Rock walk away toward the Elder Tree where she knew he would encounter a waiting Dreamberry. Such were the times when she dearly wished she could lick her wounds as easily as that pair seemed to but it was not in her nature.

When Wildstar finally lost sight of Rock she turned once again to the direction Woodsmoke's tree lay in. Her steps were slow but steady this time and she held herself erect with a poise that comes only from extreme discipline. Many might think that enduring such losses repeatedly would make one stronger, better able to deal with again, accepting. Wildstar had never found this to be true, each loss was a heavy weight within her. Still, she knew this time she could not shrink away from duty, she could not choose to stop living or allowing her people to stop living. It was not the Way.

Determined steps soon brought her to the base of the tree again. She looked up into its heights, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. The great limbs stretched out into smaller branches, then twigs and finally leaves - more than the stars that scattered the sky - and they crossed and interlaced each other in a giant network of support. Setting her hands upon the familiar handholds, the chieftess climbed up into the waiting arms of the tree and crouched upon the branch outside the den.

Inside the candle had long since faded out, softening the shadows within. This time Dreamshadow and Echo were not present and silently Wildstar was thankful for this - Echo had been close to Summerset and was still far too young to experience her first loss. Wildstar understood Dreamshadow's desire to protect her daughter from the trauma for as long as possible, although not long enough, she knew.

Woodsmoke hadn't seemed to have moved much since the previous day when Wildstar had sat crouched on this very same branch, contemplating what she had to do, and would now do, as she intended. Rising to stand, the chieftess entered the den with slow but careful practice. Her hand brushed lightly across Woodsmoke's shoulder as she circled his side before sitting opposite him. The lines of her face were soft as she gazed at the figure before her. Concern for the elf gone missing melted into concern for the father that remained.

Woodsmoke barely registered her presence. His dull, glazed eyes eventually drifted to focus upon her face, only to see the well of sadness and sympathy contained therein and knew the slim strand of hope he'd been clinging to was gone, swept out from under his feet. His head dropped into dry and cracked hands, his platinum-tinted hair falling forward in sweat-stained clumps. Wildstar closed her eyes as his shoulders began to shake and the den was filled with the scent of salt and the sound of mourning. Too many memories dragged back into the light.

She stayed with him, as Rock had stayed with her - through the day and into the night again when Dreamshadow emerged and relieved her of her vigil. Exhaustion had infused every fiber of her being, causing her once determined strides to drag now, but she had so far refused to let herself sleep. There was still the rest of the tribe to tell, although they surely knew as well as she did. But for now she sought the comfort and safety of her lovemates and the release of a wolf nap. Then the time for telling the others would come and they would howl. They always howled.


End file.
